“He’s a nineteen-year-old, writing as a middle-aged man musing on his final, pitiful years,” I explain to her, my enthusiasm exposing the near-reverence I feel for the piece. She tells me flatly, “It sounds conceited.” I notice a marked conciseness in both her questions and comments, which I disdain and respect in equal parts. “But that’s just it,” I press on; “He pulls it off perfectly.” As she rolls her eyes I think about the abstinence of all things carnal and fleshly the universe has imposed upon me for the past two years. I take her phone number, handwritten on the neatly creased paper, and furtively place it behind me on the bench.
Adam Fine is an artist based in Dallas, Texas, though he never
This is my first post, having just discovered this wonderful network through a very good friend. Thank you for reading.